What
Makes a Beautiful Player?
By
Matthew McFarland
Much of my time and energy goes into being a Storyteller, but not a player. As I’ve mentioned in other essays, it’s task that’s stuck with me for years, and a hat (black, natch) that I wear well. When it comes to role-playing, I prefer, hands down, to be in the proverbial driver’s seat.
But then, it’s nice to get to play, too. Focusing on one character is great, rather than trying to wrangle a bunch of supporting cast. It’s nice to try to decide where to spend experience points, to try to figure out a Storyteller’s next move (dangerous on the best of days).
All of which got me thinking about what makes a good player. The knee-jerk response is “creativity”, but frankly, that doesn’t say a whole lot. After all, a painter can be creative and not be able to role-play his way out of a paper bag. So, to define a “good” player, we need to be a bit more specific. I’ve divided the traits of a perfect gamer into four categories. We could call them Attributes, or Characteristics, or Basic Abilities…
Ahem. The four traits (Traits works, too!) are Cleverness, Consciousness, Appearance (it’s not what you think) and Initiative.
Cleverness, or Oof! No
Illusory Walls Here!
We can’t all be geniuses. We all try to come up with witty one-liners, great dialogue, and combat tactics so incredibly simple-yet-effective that William Wallace would smack his forehead and said “Ach!” But it ain’t always so. Some players, however, have minds like steel traps. They seize upon whatever crisis or problem you present, looking for a way to solve it.
A Clever player knows the spirit of the rules, as well as the letter. If a tactic or twist on a rule is theoretically possible but either unlikely, totally out of character, or completely outside of the game’s tone, a clever player will ignore it and think of something else. However, a clever player knows the rules. In fact, it’s the clever ones who say to you, “Hey, I had an idea for a new spell/Gift/Discipline/skill/whatever that my character could learn or create. How do this system look for it?” A marginally clever player will drop the idea, but not bother with the system (which is fine; it gives you free reign to tweak without stepping on anybody’s creative-toes). A very clever player will give you the system and say, “And I know how to work it into the plotline that we’ve got going!”
Clever players are observant, too. They ask questions. Lots of them. They ask for names for any NPC they meet, as well as descriptions. It can get annoying sometimes. Never, ever let it get to you. The clever player asks for informational purposes, not to tax your Storytelling ability. Answer their questions, and be patient.
Tactics are the clever player’s bread and butter. Some clever players enjoy chess or go or other strategy-based games, and enjoy applying that kind of logic to the problems presented in role-playing games. That’s fine. Throw them subtle clues, literary allusions, deviant behaviors in NPCs, and other puzzles. They’ll miss some of them, but that’s why you give them more than one clue. Watch which clue a player picks up on ¾ it’ll give you some ideas as to how the player’s mind works.
Well, the first one should be obvious. Clever folks can sometimes skip to step C without going through A and B. And that can be annoying as hell, if the Storyteller hasn’t thought through to C yet. The only thing the Storyteller can do is try to get a feel for how his/her players think, and try to step one step ahead of them. (Hint: If you’re making it up as you go along, they can’t outfox you. You can, however, outfox yourself, which is fun.) Don’t ¾ repeat, don’t ¾ get annoyed and penalize players who think of ways out of or around your insidious little traps that you hadn’t considered. Reward that behavior. That’s good; it tests your abilities and makes them feel like a million bucks.
Clever players can be excitable, and sometimes they blurt out their assumptions or conclusions even when their characters aren’t present. An example: I was recently running a Vampire game wherein one of the characters (Jack), weakened from hunger and stressed beyond belief, knocked on the apartment door of one of the other characters (Nova). Nova’s servant (a ghoul, which means still mostly human) opened the door and Jack immediately flew into a hunger frenzy, pounced on the ghoul, and started drinking. Nova pulled him off, but not before he’d drained most of the blood from the ghoul’s body. Nova’s player (and Nova herself) wasn’t really cognizant of what was involved in creating another vampire, she only knew that her friend was dying, so fed him some blood to try and revive him (this, by the way, is how you create another vampire: drain someone of blood, then feed them some of yours).
Meanwhile, on the other end of the couch, two Clever Players were whispering “Aw, shit, she’s going to end up turning him into a vampire”:
I docked them both a point of Willpower and sent them to bed without dessert. I let them off that light because nobody heard them. If Nova had known that was going to happen, she might have acted differently ¾ or not. But she didn’t, and neither did Nova’s player, and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.
If you get a reference or a clue that no one else does ¾ and your character has no way of saying anything ¾ don’t give it away OOC. Sit there and squirm. Pass a note to the Storyteller if you must. I’ve actually had people leave the room because it was too painful to watch other players struggling with a riddle they’d figured out ten minutes ago. Do whatever you need to do, but don’t give away information your character doesn’t have.
Another problem that clever players tend to have is remembering that the game is about role-playing, not problem-solving. A clever player’s character may be dumb as a box of rocks, but that player still retains her intellect and she forgets to curb it. I recommend not playing characters that you have to dumb down ¾ it’s hard to role-play, and I don’t find it to be a lot of fun. If you’re capable of playing a less-than-bright character, however, and you’d be entertained by that sort of thing, go on ahead. Just don’t be surprised if the Storyteller asks for Intelligence rolls to see if your character can come to the same conclusions you can. (The corollary to this, of course, is not to player characters that are too much smarter than you, but that’s hard to gauge.)
Finally, clever players don’t always ask what they want to know. They’ve got everything pictured in their minds, so when a player asks, “How wide is the alley?” what he might really want to know is, “Do I have enough space to charge the thug and knock him over, or should I just walk up and slug him?” Often, questions aren’t nitpicking, they’re part of a logical chain of thoughts that the Storyteller isn’t privy to. So, if you aren’t really sure how wide a city alley is (24 paces. I checked in Cleveland), ask why the player wants to know.
• Does your Storyteller pause between details during descriptions to see if you’ve got anything to ask?
• Do you take notes?
• Within ten seconds of meeting an NPC, do you have her class/clan/tribe/tradition/race/whatever pegged?
• When your Storyteller drops a subtle clue and your character isn’t there to hear it, do you have to bury your face in a pillow and scream?
• Does your Storyteller often glare at you and hold up a gag or roll of duct tape?
• Does your group look to you for rules clarifications more often than the Storyteller?
If you answered “yes” to any or all of these questions, chances are you’re a Clever Player.
Gamers love their hobby. Otherwise, they wouldn’t do it. It takes a certain amount of trust (read: masochism) to lovingly craft a character, place their stats with care, design a background, and then hand it over to some over-creative sadist with too much free time at work who does nothing but dream up ways to torture characters and then writes essays on the subject…err…I digress.
As I was saying, enthusiasm is important. Once you’re at the game, you’re there to game, not to sleep. But there’s a lot more to Consciousness than remaining awake.
A Conscious player remains so during the entire game. She doesn’t nod off on the couch or wander into other rooms to play video games when her character’s involved in a scene. (If the Storyteller is cross-cutting between two groups of characters, of course, this is probably acceptable, but you still might want to ask.) Most especially, a conscious player does not begin chatting OOC with other players during important scenes (at least, not in the same room). This kind of behavior is rude, and belittles the time and energy the Storyteller puts into the game.
Conscious players often take notes, whether or not they are currently involved in the action. I’m of two minds about this. The strict Gamemaster in me says, “Nope, if you’re not there, you won’t remember it, so don’t be writing it down.” The Storyteller in me says, “It’s a game, Matthew. Besides, if s/he doesn’t write it down, who will? You?” I usually let it slide except in extreme cases. Besides, if players get in the habit of taking notes all the time, odds are they’ll write stuff down that they think is important. Then, I can look through their notes later (backs of character sheets are good places to take notes, and I always hold onto character sheets) and find out what they thought was important, and adjust the plotline according, if necessary.
Another hallmark of the Conscious player is staying in character, especially during interaction with other characters. Some players route all interaction through the Storyteller, even when the person to whom their characters are speaking is sitting next to them. I prefer dialogue, complete with eye contact and everything, because it’s great role-playing and it’s fun to watch. Conscious players do not drop out of character every other sentence, to quote movies or make silly jokes. To a degree, that sort of thing’s okay. After all, it’s a game, it’s a social situation, you’re here to have fun with friends, right? So what’s the big deal with making a few jokes?
The big deal is when it gets distracting and annoying. A gaming session is not a party; it’s a gaming session. If you’d rather watch a movie, invite the group to your place to do that sometime. But don’t start quoting during an intense scene and don’t slip out of character to make dumb jokes when the dialogue train is starting to chug.
An example of what a Conscious player wouldn’t do: I was running Chill a few (well, a lot) of years ago. I ran a game where the group ended up locked in a factory with a huge, spider-like beast called a chimneyrue that lives on smoke. (You can find this creature, and 66 other nasties that work incredibly well for all sorts of horror games, in GURPS Creatures of the Night by Scott Paul Maykrantz.) The thing was stalking them and they didn’t know what could hurt it (they all carried firearms, but were quite used to them not having any effect whatsoever. That’s Chill for you). The factory foreman, standing close to a vent, started babbling about “the ‘rue! The chimneyrue!” He told them to kill it, they asked how. He screamed (I didn’t really screamed, just tensed my voice. Learn to do that; screams in close quarters are bad form), “Kill it with your glack ¾”. He didn’t finish the sentence because the chimneyrue had crept up through the vent and put one of its claws through his stomach. He meant to say “guns”, of course.
One of the players, however, picked up the cue and finished “glack” with “enspiel!” (Get it? Glockenspiel?) Everybody cracked up. I could have killed him. Until then, everybody was tense, a little shook up, picturing the smoky, darkened factory, the foreman’s sweaty face and darting eyes as he raved…and with that one little joke, it all fell apart. I was pissed. The fact that the joke was funny as hell isn’t the point. A large part of being a Conscious player is being conscientious, and that means not mucking with the Storyteller’s moments.
Staying in character in the face of adversity, including the opportunity to make your fellow players laugh, is a hard task. I appreciate that (and it’s not like I’ve never broken character to lighten things up, either). However, try to have some sense of tact.
On that subject, a Conscious player knows what subjects to avoid. I’ve been reading a lot of essays of later by female gamers (there’s one on my page, and a whole slew of them on the Revenge of the Gamer Chick, which I highly recommend). One really disturbing practice I’ve read about is IC rape. Now, I’d filet any moron who tried that in one of my games: there are some topics that just don’t need to be touched upon, especially between two player-controlled characters. However, I’ve seen players bring up such topics and watched other players in the room grow quiet and withdrawn.
In my essay entitled When Things Go Horribly Wrong, I mentioned a number of topics that are sensitive spots for many people (specifically, rape, molestation, drugs, pregnancy, and family member death). These things can and do happen in real life and can happen in a game as well. Understand, however, that you should no more use these topics for their reactionary value that you should slap a player in the face to get a reaction. This goes for players as well ¾ if you know that a fellow players has issues with a topic, avoid them. If you don’t know and someone brings it to your attention, respect that. If you have issues with a given topic, tell the Storyteller as soon as it becomes a problem. Communication is key: be Conscious of that fact.
Another common practice of the Conscious player is helping the Storyteller out. Some players feel that they are going the extra mile by taking actions which result in problems for their characters (or the entire group) and saying, with a pained expression, “But it’s what my character would do.” To that I usually respond, “Nah. It’s what your character might do.”
Think back to the last choice you had to make, important or not. Was there only one decision you could have made, or could have chosen to do several different things for different reasons? People are unpredictable, and you won’t catch any flak from the Storyteller for finding a way to include yourself in the proceedings, even if doesn’t seem strictly in line with your character’s concept at first blush.
Yet another example: I played in a game of Hunter: The Reckoning (which is a much more interesting game than I first thought) that probably should have been more structured. The Storyteller really hadn’t considered how he was going to get all of the characters into the action, just assuming that we’d fall into place somehow. That’s a dangerous assumption. One of the characters remained alone at her apartment for most of the game, out of the action, because her player didn’t feel it was “in character” for her to follow the messages she was getting and drive to where the action was. In this instance, while the Storyteller certainly could have planned things a bit better (especially considering he had seven players who weren’t connected in any way, which is a bit much), the player should have been more Conscious. (She did, eventually, decide that the messages and hints drove her to distraction enough that she had to get in her car and drive “wherever”, just to clear her head. That’s a great way to get characters involved, by the way).
Being a Conscious player doesn’t mean you make choices that are totally opposed to your character’s concept simply to further the plot. It means that you don’t go out of your way to make trouble simply because it’s “in character”. It’s a fine line, and a certain amount of self-limitation in the name of concept is a good thing, but at the same time, if the game is obviously straining because people are drifting apart, you might consider taking another course of action that your normally wouldn’t, if only to give the Storyteller a break. (Storytellers, again, reward this behavior.)
The last trait of a Conscious player is the most obvious. They pay attention. That means no sleeping, no chatting, no reading or drifting off to La-La Land while their character is ostensibly present during a scene. If you suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder, take your medication. If you’re easily distracted by books, write on a clipboard and keep the books out of arm’s reach. Take notes ¾ it’ll give you something to do with your hands, but keep you in the moment (beware of doodling, though). If you find yourself growing tired, sit up straight, drink a can of pop (soda, to all you non-Ohioans), ask the Storyteller for a stretch-break, whatever. If you find you really can’t remain awake or Conscious anymore, ask the Storyteller to sideline your character (or play him/her as an NPC, which is something I refuse to do) and go home. The other players will find your absence preferable to your unConscious presence.
• Do you write down everyone’s characters names and descriptions, so that you’ll remember when you speak to them in character?
• Do you take notes?
• Have you ever cried in character (I have, by the way)?
• At 4 AM, when the Storyteller is yawning and getting ready to call it quits, do you encourage “making this an all-nighter so we can get to the bottom of this”?
• Have you ever written down a thought or joke that was funny as hell, but would have completely ruined the moment?
• Have you ever suggested making a spouse, sibling, or good friend character to one of the other player’s characters?
If you answered “yes” to any or all of these questions, you’re probably Conscious.
This essay is becoming quite lengthy, which is fine. However, I believe I am going to split it up into two essays. The other two traits of the Beautiful Player, Appearance and Initiative, appear in What Makes a Beautiful Player? Part 2.
© 2000 Matthew McFarland. No
reproduction is allowed without the author’s express permission.